


there'll be peace when you are done

by CoaxionUnlimited



Category: Supernatural, The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Barry has a blue pick-up truck, F/M, Gen, I thought you should know, Multi, almost everyone will appear at one point or another, but im only tagging them when they get a speaking part, more characters will be added as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoaxionUnlimited/pseuds/CoaxionUnlimited
Summary: Barry Bluejeans doesn't think he's a good hunter, but he knows the basics. How to shoot a gun, how to wield a knife, and to watch yourself around the monsters.Of course, that was before he let two beautiful, fast-talking elves into his pickup truck.Join us as monsters are defeated, sides are chosen, bonds are formed, tacos are eaten, and everyone assumes Barry's living the twin threesome fantasy.





	there'll be peace when you are done

It starts like this-

There’s singing in the forest, like the church bells made themselves into human voices, like the stars came down from the sky and wove their voices into a net. You grab your sister’s hand and-

Wait, no. That’s the wrong story. 

This story starts when a hunter comes calling. Barold J. Bluejeans - Barry, to his friends, not that he has many - would tell you that he’s more of a specialist than a true hunter, but he’s the only person Davenport has in a hundred mile radius of a certain small town in Maine and the case is time-sensitive. 

People have been disappearing on the full moon in Hillsberg for - well, the last three had made the papers, but Lucretia had done some digging, and it seemed that people had been disappearing for much longer than that. It’s never been quite as many as three in three months though, which is where Barry comes in.

The full moon is tomorrow night, and someone has to at least try to save the next victim.

Barry will admit, reluctantly, that he’s better than nothing.

Normally, Barry would park his truck in front of the library and bury his head in old articles, reports of disappearances and records of local legends. He’d listen to playground rhymes and teenage dares, and he’d pick his way to the center of the problem, the place where reality wore the thinnest. But this time he’s got less than six hours to find his answers.

So he skims the packet of information Lucretia emailed him, parks himself in an empty lot, and starts loading his guns. 

Lucretia is convinced that it’s fairies, and Barry will admit, grudgingly, that she’s got a very good track record with this sort of thing. So he tucks St. John’s Wort into his pocket, and loads cold steel bullets into his shotgun, and gets ready to lie.

If it is the fae, he’s got a long night ahead of him.

\--

Barry’s spent more than this fair share of time crunching around unnaturally silent forests. He’s been hanging around hunters for most of his life, and this is where their job is - dark woods where even the light of the moon can’t touch the forest floor, city sewers with flickering safety lights, graveyards at night. 

Barry spends more time in graveyards than he does in forests, generally, but he knows how to walk quietly and he’s not afraid of the silence. 

That’s a lie, he’s afraid, but it’s not the paralyzing fear of talking to strangers or checking his email. It’s fear, sinking down under quiet resolve. Barry has a gun in his hands, and purpose in his bones, and he might be afraid but he won’t let it stop him. 

This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t jump nearly out of his skin when a tall, beautiful man steps out of the shadows in front of him.

“Whoa there, homie,” the man says, throwing up his hands. “Chill it with the gun.”

“What do you want?” Barry’s voice shakes, but his hands are steady. If this - man, monster, whatever - wants to hurt him, it’s the hands that matter.

The man gives a languid shrug and fiddles with the point of his enormous, cheesy wizard hat. “’M not after anything,” he says, “Just- look dude, shit’s about to get wild in here. You might want to get out of dodge, yeah?”

Barry chuckles. It sounds weak and small in the overwhelming silence of the forest, the sound dampened against the claustrophobic closeness of the fog.

“No- no, I think I’m good.” Barry manages, into the conversational gap. “Wild shit is, uh, kind of what I’m here for.”

The man gives him a considering look, dragging his eyes from the top of Barry’s head to the tips of his sturdy, steel toed boots. It’s dispassionate, assessing, and it makes Barry’s skin crawl. Whoever he sees, he pretty obviously finds Barry wanting.

“Well,” the man says, doubtfully, “’f that’s how you want to do it, buddy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Barry inclines his head, and the man shakes a finger at him. “Seriously,” he says, “Don’t. My sister will kill me.”

“Pinky swear,” Barry says, dryly. The man tips the brim of his hat at Barry, but steps out of the way. 

Barry walks on. 

\--

Lucretia said that the - well, she said a bunch of the technical jargon that she spends her spare time making up, but the gist of it was that it should be pretty easy to find where people were disappearing from. Once he was in the woods, she’d said, it’d be looking for him too. 

So when he feels magic tugging at his feet, soft and subtle, he doesn’t fight it. He lets it walk him onto what looks like a trail and snickers to himself. It must think he’s lost out here, that he’d be relieved to see any kind of direction. The sun is sinking on the horizon, though Barry can’t tell exactly where it is through the fog. Moonrise is coming.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, the path opens out onto a clearing.

It looks nice, with soft, inviting green grass, and pale white bellflowers poking up from between the roots of the trees. Barry ignores the soft compulsion to put his head down and sleep for a while and sits himself down dead in the center of the clearing. Cell phones and watches don’t really work outside of the typical reality, but Barry’s pretty sure he’s got at least an hour before moonrise. Time enough to sit and wait.

Barry takes a deep breath, forcing the anxiety that come with waiting back down into his chest, and promptly chokes on it when someone shouts, 

“What are you doing here?”

Barry nearly wrenches his neck turning around to look at the source of the noise, and then nearly wrenches it again doing a double take. He was sure that the pretty man had stayed behind - no, there’s a subtle difference around the face, and the voice was female. Barry’s eyes trail downward, and then snap back up to the woman’s (definitely a woman, don’t blush Barry) face.

“Look, babe, I’m gonna need you to answer that question. My brother was supposed to keep you out-”

“He did, uh, warn me,” Barry points out. 

She shakes her head. “He was supposed to- what are you doing?”

That was directed over Barry’s shoulder. He scrambles to his feet and sees the other one, the brother, striding casually into the clearing, his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” he drawls, “I figured if he was that into getting vored by scary deer men, it was, yanno, destiny.”

Barry winces. The woman’s hands ball into fists at her sides.

“You know what he does with them, brother-mine,” she snaps, “If we let him have this one, he’ll only-”

“And if we get out, it won’t be our problem,” the man replies, his shoulders hunching up towards his ears. “The way I see it, this guy can distract him for a bit and we can escapay.”

“Uh,” Barry says, but the woman talks over him.

“And if we can get out, he can- oh shit.”

She’s looking past her brother, at the empty trees. 

“No, no, do continue,” a smooth male voice says from the shadows. “I was quite enjoying hearing about your plans to escape me.”

“My lord Ascendant,” the man stutters, but he’s cut off by a figure emerging from the shadows.

The man wasn’t lying about it being a scary deer man, though he might have been oversimplifying a bit. There’s certainly a deer head on his shoulders, wrapped in inky skin, shot through with veins of static and dotted with bright multicolored eyes but it also has a bear head, and what looks like a - crocodile? iguana? face. The newcomer has two sets of arms; one folded across his chest, the other spread wide. 

“I think I can delay dealing with the human,” the Ascendant says, its voice incongruous with the monstrosity that is its body, “Until I have dealt with the traitors in my nest.”

A hand shoots straight out of the creature’s back and grabs the man around the throat. He cries out and his sister gasps, stumbling a step forward towards him. The arm migrates across the Ascendant’s body, until the man is hanging directly underneath its open maw. 

“Now,” it purrs, “I think I have been more than generous with the two of you. Perhaps I ought to-”

Barry cuts him off with a shotgun shell to the lizard-face. 

If Barry was a betting man he would have put money on that killing any fairy it hit. He’s glad he didn’t put any money down when the Ascendant stumbles, but doesn’t drop, his grip loosening slightly. His sister yells something in a language Barry doesn’t recognize and a bolt of fire slams into the Ascendant’s arm, making him drop the man.

The Ascendant snarls and Barry fires another shell into the mass of its body. It flinches again, and then laughs. 

“That’s your gun empty, little human,” it growls. “What now, I wonder?” 

Its arm grabs Barry around the neck and hauls him straight off the ground, before dragging him back in right under its deer-face’s gaping mouth. Barry grunts, the air forced from his mouth. 

“I wouldn’t count on your little elven friends,” it purrs. “They’re my subjects, they cannot deny me.” 

Barry hears shuffling from behind the monster. He ignores it, dragging one of his arms around behind him to fumble on his belt, his shotgun slipping from lax fingers. 

“Perhaps,” the Ascendant muses, drawing Barry just a hair closer, “I ought to share with them some small taste of my kingdom. Tell me, human, do you think they would find you to their liking? Do you think your blood would be enough to turn them from their stubborn pacifism, to enlighten them as to who they shall be?”

Barry finally frees his silver knife from his belt and brings it around in a single smooth motion. It passes through the first inch of the Ascendant’s neck like water and then strikes something harder. Barry grits his teeth and starts to saw. 

The Ascendant makes a noise like screaming, like a giant gong, and it lets go of Barry. 

He hangs on, grabbing at the Ascendant’s shoulders with his other hand, and hauling himself over its shoulder, adjusting the knife so his full weight is pulling it against the Ascendant’s deer throat. For a second Barry hangs there, while the Ascendant’s arms writhe and its bear head opens its jaws in a scream. 

Then something gives with a noise like splitting wood and the deer head comes free and Barry with it, tumbling down the length of the creature’s back. Barry lands hard, the air shoved out of his lungs by the fall, and it takes him a couple of seconds to register that something is spilling out of the stump where the head used to be. It writhes towards the sky like a column of glittering smoke, and then someone is grabbing Barry under his arms and hauling him to his feet.

“Come on,” the woman’s voice says, “we’ve got to- he’s going to-”

Her brother is standing at the edge of the clearing, white light limning his hands. There’s something like terror in his eyes. 

Barry lets the woman yank him into a stumbling run. Behind him there’s a huge, incomprehensibly deep noise, and the male elf yells something. Barry misses the words in his attempt to drag air into his aching lungs, but the woman starts dragging him faster.

“What the hell are those?” she shouts, and her brother yells back,

“I’m not sticking around to find out!” 

There’s a crackling noise, and a thump, and the man’s voice says, “That should hold them for a bit.”

Barry isn’t sure how long they stumble-run through the dark forest. These elves have better night vision than he does, he can barely see his hand in front of his face. Eventually, there’s light through the trees, and they’re coming out on the same segment of pavement Barry parked his truck in front of on his way in. 

He fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakes himself free from the elf-woman. Distantly, he can tell she’s turning back to the forest, fire streaming from her outstretched hands. Barry makes his limping way to the truck and unlocks the door on his third try, his hands shaking and sending the key skittering across the handle.

“Come on,” he yells, his lungs aching, “Get in!”

Barry stuffs his keys in the ignition and shoves the passenger side door open. The male elf tumbles in, hauling his sister up behind him, and Barry floors it.

In his rearview mirror he sees shapes like massive dogs chasing down the empty highway after them. 

He slams the accelerator down and prays to whatever deity looks after hunters.

\--

Two hours later, they’ve lost the dogs. 

Well, Barry’s pretty sure they’ve lost the dogs. He lost sight of them in the first half hour and let the car drop under ninety after an hour on the road, but he still has a nagging prickling at the back of his skull, like if they slow down for a second, there will be monsters nipping at his heels.

He dismisses it as anxiety and tries to relax his hands from their desperate clench on the wheel. 

At some point during the ride the male elf migrated to the backseat, where he’s sprawled with his chin hooked over the back of the seat so he can look out over the bed of the truck. The female elf is sprawled over the front seat, blatantly not wearing a seatbelt, her hands tapping a pattern over his airbag.

Barry clears his throat and says, “Uh, are you guys hungry? Because, um, no offense, but I haven’t eaten since lunch and there’s a rest stop up-”

“Chill, babe,” the female elf says.

“I could eat,” her brother chimes in.

“Okay.” Barry says, putting on his turn signal, “Cool.” 

\--

The eerie, ethereal beauty that the elves have that had looked so stark in the fading light of day, took on a totally different cast under the harsh fluorescent light of the cheap, family-owned Mexican place Barry had pulled into. 

The two of them are huddled together, shoulder to identical shoulder, on the other side of the booth. The woman is making a face at the laminated menu, the man is eying the exit. 

Barry’s eyes flick down to the menu, then back up again, and he says, “Uh, do you guys have names?”

The male elf’s eyes snap back to him. 

“Who’s asking?” There’s a subtle tension to his shoulders as he says it.

“Oh,” Barry says, “I’m uh, Barry. Barry Bluejeans. I was just, uh, curious.”

The male elf looks down at the menu and then plasters a sharp grin over his face. “I’m Taako,” he says. 

“Uh, nice to meet you.” Barry says. And then, “Wait, did you just pick something off the menu?”

“No, of course not,” he says, still smiling that bladed smile, “It’s spelled differently, t-a-a-k-o.”

“Okay,” Barry says, deciding not to question that. “And your sister?”

“Lup,” the female elf says, still studying the menu. Barry’s eyes flick between them but surely if they didn’t want him to know their names they would have just said so. Besides, Lup doesn’t sound like something off a Mexican menu...

So he lets it slide, and when the middle-aged woman who takes their order does a double-take, and then gives Barry a look that implies he's paying the twins for their company and ought to be ashamed of himself, he forgets about it entirely.

-

Two days later, tucked into a shitty bed in a shitty motel, with two twin elves snoozing across the room, Barry sits bolt upright and hisses, “Chalupa!”


End file.
